I was born amidst ten thousand hills of Hainan,
Stepping out, I see ridges and mounds winding around.
The flat fields stretch no more than ten li wide,
How could I know the vastness of heaven and earth?
A man falls to earth with ambitions spanning the six directions,
Yet clutches this inch of heart, ever anxious and bound.
In early years, I roamed as a guest in the heavenly prefecture,
Singing long songs eastward past the Muling Pass I found.
At the pass, I sat gazing skyward with a sigh,
A hundred years' endeavors, fleeting as a pellet round.
The world is but a strip of water, a narrow confine,
How to glimpse the Central Plains, ten thousand li from this ground?
Now scripts and tracks are unified in a single day,
The land unchanged, yet times have shifted all around.
Soon I'll see Mount Song and Hua near Luoyang's capital,
And Mount Tai by Confucius' grove, a step from hallowed ground.
The traces of sages and worthies lie precisely here,
Like trees and streams that from their sources are bound.
Learning the Way in the north was prized in ancient times,
Yet talents from Chu were deemed peripheral, I've found.
Since primal energy waxes and wanes through the ages,
And human affairs shift, never stable and sound.
Standing in snow at Cheng's gate, the Way moved south,
Luckily this lineage remains, its thread unbound.
Wuyi and Kaoting are today's Zhu and Si,
Master Zhu's learning spreads to the world's farthest bound.
Then it was called 'Little Luoyang,' a place renown,
Where Hu, Liu, and Cai lived linked, in friendship profound.
Their grace and spirit matched Cheng, Shao, and Ma,
As elders still recount, with memories renowned.
Rising, I gaze afar to the eight wild horizons,
This thread of culture hangs by a thousand jun, profound.
Human hearts are not just drowning or burning in haste,
The vast handle of fate—who holds it, who is crowned?
If only people read the books of Zhou and Confucius,
No fear the ancient Way today would not be found.
The dragon-horse and River Chart are tales of distant past,
Yet the Ying and Luo rivers flow as they did, renowned.
Three-three and eight-eight, the trigrams divide the fields,
Lifting eyes to patterns and signs, not void but profound.
Great indeed is the 'One Virtue' book of Yi and Bo,
This ultimate standard guards the realm's sacred ground.
The 'Six Codes of Taiping' deeply understood this,
Below, Duke's earnest thoughts in surplus abound.
Not only the 'Zhou Officials' list three hundred posts,
But also 'Ceremonies and Rites' set three thousand around.
The governance of Chengzhou surpassed a thousand ages,
Leaving only tracks and rules in tattered scrolls unbound.
Confucius already sighed the phoenix did not come,
Only in dreams did he with Zhou's glory compound.
Thus leaks and gaps have spanned a thousand years,
When will the barefoot child find rest on solid ground?
Since Han's beginning, surplus blame has lingered on,
Benevolence, righteousness, systems—all loosely wound.
Dong was old, Jia young, their counsel left aside,
Till now Qin's laws are followed, as habits compound.
Lou Jing's single word—was it a thorough discourse?
The air of rivalry and strife continues unbound.
I deeply admire the rule of Eastern Capital's era,
Where the aura of Three Dynasties could still be found.
Vast and joyous, the land of drums and bells,
Tens of thousands in caps and sashes at the round bridge's ground.
Revering teachers and honoring masters—rare even in antiquity,
One change to the utmost Way—why should it be profound?
Alas, Huan Rong lacked this learning, a pity indeed,
While in the West, golden light immortals abound.
Horses come, oxen go—events quite shallow,
Since then, upright energy has often been foul, I've found.
How could the green hills of Moling compare?
Only here remain the caps and robes, hallowed ground.
Do not lightly discuss Wang Tong's 'Yuan Jing',
The civil rule of Taihe was truly renowned.
For a time, rites and music flourished, learning thrived,
A thousand lanes, ten thousand wells, fields evenly bound.
After Yin and Zhou, this was one well-governed age,
Worthy elders like Wang and Su deeply expound.
Yet regret that Jinyang's prosperous fate,
With main principles awry—what else can be found?
This moment lost, how many years have passed?
High heaven, thick earth—bearing deep grievance unbound.
Though upright energy surely must converge,
Ancient and modern fine meetings—should not be scarce, I've found.
A scholar shut his door for thirty years,
By chance, three lives' karma met in a single day's round.
I wish to carry books and bow at Qufu's site,
And urge my carriage to glimpse the Jian and Chan rivers' ground.
The Henan Master's land where the Way was proclaimed,
I hear desolate grass congeals in mournful mist, profound.
Sages' and worthies' deeds are before our eyes,
The lovely mountains and rivers as of old surround.
Master Zhu's Way will surely meet the north,
This principle through ages comes and goes, unbound.
Illustrious examples and models start from this,
The nine provinces, four seas must share one script, renowned.
The Great Way long divided must be unified,
Once the Royal Ultimate is built, peace will abound.
When will the old and lame lean on canes to see?
My deep feelings lodge in this 'Viewing Luo' poem, profound.
Yao Fu chose his dwelling in Taiping's days,
The Way governing the world is constant, one and round.
Hoist sail southeast—you must reach the vast sea,
Tread northwest—you need Kunlun's peak, hallowed ground.
I look to Lord Lu and Earl Xi with hope,
But remnant hills and left waters can hardly be renowned.